


Cupcake

by Dassandre



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Fluff and Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25407907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/pseuds/Dassandre
Summary: The resulting explosion of tart lemon counterbalanced with the sweet raspberry across his taste buds nearly sent James in paroxysms of gastric joy.  It was the best damn thing Bond had ever eaten.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 18
Kudos: 49
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	Cupcake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts).



> For Boffin 1710 ... there are many words we say and many that go unsaid, but always the meaning and the feelings are there. This is for you, dear friend. My written words are sometimes the best way for me to share all of the unsaid.
> 
> This story is a bit of a departure for me. It's fluffy and cracky and a tad absurd, but I hope you all enjoy it. Please let me know if that is the case. Comments are love and so very needed at this time.

In James Bond’s opinion, the term ‘epic’ was one applied far too liberally by the younger generation. 

It should be reserved for things that are uniquely impressive or remarkable: the stunning blue waters of the Cave of Melissani on Kefalonia; the view of the Dolomites from Bolzano, where the rolling green hills juxtapose beautifully against the sawtoothed peaks in the distance; the unparalleled fjords and frozen beaches of Norway’s Lofoten Islands; the sheer majesty of Iguazú Falls along the Argentina/Brazil border (that legend held the waterfalls were created when a god who was rejected by his mortal lover split the rivers apart in a fit of rage only added to the grandeur of the waters, in James’ opinion).

It should not be used to describe the gig down the pub last night or a cheese toasty from The Cheese Bar in Camden Market. No, not even the lines of a Ducati Diavel 1260 S, nor a pint of Fuller’s Vintage Ale, no matter how assertively hoppy and complex the orange and sherry-like the notes may be. 

Given Bond’s exacting set of criteria, The Cupcake was an unforeseen exception to the epic labelling rule.

Lemon with raspberry filling. Perfectly piped lemon buttercream swirled upward from the cushiony cake, creating the ideal nest for the single, icing-sugared raspberry sat jauntily atop it. 

The resulting explosion of tart lemon counterbalanced with the sweet raspberry across his taste buds nearly sent James in paroxysms of gastric joy. It was the best damn thing Bond had ever eaten.

Which was as well since it was likely to be the last thing he would ever eat.

It wasn’t that James had been particularly hungry.

It wasn’t that James had been particularly cross.

In his defence, James _had_ warned Q what he would do if pushed too far.

Yet Q had not budged. 

James had been left with no other choice, and well ...

Sometimes you just have to look a man dead in the eye whilst you slide an entire cupcake in your mouth and exert your dominance.

The collective gasp of shock from the minions in Q-Branch nearly depleted the oxygen in the team room.

“He ate The Quartermaster’s cupcake,” one of them said, breathy and weak when she could find her words again. Another had to be helped into his chair, so great was the shock of what he had witnessed. 

“Catherine made that especially for him. A … a thank you for helping with her granddaughter’s science project.” The third minion sounded either on the brink of tears or near to having a heart attack. 

Q himself said nothing. His face remained impassive. Only the narrowing of his eyes behind his spectacles and the subtle tightening of his jaw indicated his extreme displeasure as his lover chomped and chewed the confection.

Then James grinned.

A minion whimpered.

Q frowned and turned back to his workstation.

Secure in his belief he had made his point quite clear, James turned on the heel of his dark brown, museum calf Oxfords, and strode to the exit. But before he could press his palm to the biometric lock that helped keep the Q-Branchers secure, Q’s cool voice stayed his hand.

“A fortnight, Bond. Note the time. You’ve that long. I’m sure you’ll make amends before then.”

James glanced at the massive digital clock on the main wall -- 13:47 -- then back at Q who continued to prep for the mission with 004 that was about to go live. “And if not?”

Q did not reply but the minions present at the time of the event swear to this day the ambient temperature of the team room dropped 4.6 degrees. 

Bond, apparently oblivious to the sudden arctic chill, grinned, pressed his palm to the lock, and sauntered out of the branch, whistling. 

All eyes, save one pair, watched him disappear past the windows of the team room and down the corridor. Finally, the doors slid shut with an ominous _shussss_ , cutting off Bond’s pitch-perfect trilling of George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.” 

“Okay, people, back to work,” R said quietly, rallying the minions back to their tasks. “Papava’s mission is live again in ten, so let’s go through the final checks. Oh, and someone ring Medical for Carlson. He’s passed out again.” She gestured at the minion who’d grown faint at the audacity of Bond’s actions and was puddled on the floor at the base of his workstation.

Given the ominous nature of The Quartermaster’s declaration to Bond, the two weeks which followed were surprisingly normal. Light-hearted, even, or at least as light-hearted as things could be in Q-Branch given the high-level of horrible they dealt with and tried to prevent on an hourly basis. 

Missions ran as usual with agents and handlers dancing their complicated tango to thwart ruination. Minions minioned, building and designing and hacking and researching and evaluating and coding so that said handlers and their agents had all the tools necessary to thwart that ruination.

Agents of all levels came to collect or return their kits. Some stayed to chat a bit, even a few of the Double-Os. Q had long encouraged a more collegial atmosphere between the Agent Corps and the Q-Branchers, and even 006 and 007 weren’t as automatically terrifying as they had been a few years ago

Until The Cupcake Incident.

But even that … well, on the surface, even _that_ relationship seemed to be ‘normal.’ Q and 007 engaged in their snarky banter as they had always done. There didn’t seem to be any tension or residual anger from The Quartermaster. A few of the more daring minions who hadn’t been with Q-Branch as long speculated amongst each other, wondering if that cordiality held true in their personal life at home. 

Things seemed to be okay, and the more naive ones began to relax, secure in their ignorance that everything was fine.

Those who had been around longer knew better. And waited.

It was agonising.

Through it all, R kept the minions focussed on their tasks, managing and directing as she always did so Q could focus on his overwhelming responsibilities, all the while keeping to herself her opinions of Bond’s utter foolishness.

Nevertheless, each time Bond entered Q-Branch they crossed their fingers, touched wood, and hoped and prayed that Bond would make amends. That _this_ would be the day he atoned for the sin of eating The Quartermaster’s cupcake in such an irreverent and cheeky manner.

But Bond never did.

At precisely 13:48 a fortnight after the cupcake was chomped and chewed so discourteously, James Bond strode into Q-Branch with a self-satisfied -- some would say ‘smug’ -- grin on his face. 

It was one minute past The Quartermaster’s dealing, and Bond was empty-handed.

The Quartermaster was waiting for him.

“Ah, 007. Just after the nick of time, I see. If you would? A moment?” Q gestured at the open door of his office.

“Always my pleasure, Q,” Bond said. Crossing the distance with the same spring in his step as he’d had a fortnight before.

“Somehow I don’t think so,” a minion muttered at the door closed and the glass window to Q’s office snapped opaque.

It didn’t take long. Less than five minutes. No one in the team room had any inkling what Q had said to have that particular devastating impact on a _Double-O_ for there had been no shouting, but the 007 who emerged from The Quartermaster’s den was not the same as the one who entered.

He looked shaken, not stirred, and the spring in his step had sprung. A tad ashen, Bond trod heavily toward the door, but before he could press his palm to the biometric lock that helped keep the Q-Branchers secure, Q’s cool voice once more stayed his hand.

“By tomorrow Bond. Lest I choose to augment the consequences. Remember, I know where you sleep.” The smile on Q’s face was quite dreadful. “Or rather, where you wish to _continue_ to sleep.”

“Of course, Quartermaster,” Bond said with a respectful nod of his head.

The doors to Q-Branch slid open and shut with an ominous _shussss_ , and Bond departed. Q returned to his office, his pitch-perfect whistling of Rhianna’s “S&M” drifting out to the team room as he did. 

Save for darting eyes and startled expressions, not a single minion moved.

“Okay, people, back to work,” R said with a clap of her hands, startling the minions out of their wonderstruck haze, urging them back to their tasks. “We have final checks to do for 002’s mission and five other agents coming in to retrieve or return their kits, so let’s get with it! Oh, and someone ring Medical for Carlson, again.” She gestured at the minion who’d grown faint at the seeing his Supreme Overlord cow a Double-O and was once more puddled on the floor at the base of his workstation. “The man’s going to do himself an injury if he keeps that up.”

The next afternoon as the Q-Branchers buzzed about the team room, enjoying a sumptuous, bountiful spread of their favourite foods from seven different restaurants, Q popped the last bite of his cupcake into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. It had been lemon with raspberry filling. Perfectly piped lemon buttercream had swirled upward from the cushiony cake, creating the ideal nest for the single, icing-sugared raspberry sat jauntily on top. 

The explosion of tart lemon counterbalanced with the sweet raspberry across his taste buds nearly sent Q in paroxysms of gastric joy. It was the best damn thing The Quartermaster had ever eaten. _Finally_. And there were 10 more in a box sat upon his desk.

“You were appropriately contrite to Catherine, I assume,” he said once the last of the delicious crumbs were licked from his fingers.

“I was, yes,” Bond said solemnly. There was no sign of his usual snark and contrariness.

“You seem to have outdone yourself for my staff,” Q noted with a nod at the buffet elegantly displayed on tables against the far wall. “I approve, 007. You may go now, Bond.”

Bond nodded and made his way again to the door. Once more Q stopped him. “I will see you later at home, James.”

A slight smile caught the corner of James’ mouth. “I’ll see you then.” He turned and left the room. Those closest to the door could hear him cautiously humming TLC’s “Red Light Special” as he disappeared down the corridor.

“Thank you, R for keeping the minions relatively focussed and on task these last two weeks, through all of that. Messy. Far more than it needed to be.” Q shoulder-bumped his second who stood at his side, licking her fingers free from the lemon icing of her own cupcake.

“Worth it,” she said. “And necessary. Sometimes they need a reminder about the true hierarchy around here. Some lessons are more painful than others, but you handled it masterfully.”

Q chuckled in agreement but said nothing more. 

R reached out and wiped a bit of icing from the corner of his mouth. “009’s live in an hour. Just enough time for you to have something substantial to eat and a quick cat nap. Go on. Off you pop,” she said with a nod for the food.

Q nudged her again but followed her command, muttering about the ‘true nature of the hierarchy around here’ as he did.  
  
  
  


* * *

The Cupcake!! Photo by Boffin1710  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> “If you have consumed what I have laboured and invested in to create, and if you have found any enjoyment in it, please tell me so that I can recharge enough to do this again.” ~ kdreeva via Tumblr


End file.
